On the Edge
by RochelleRene
Summary: I have a happy fic almost done, but after last night's episode, and a night of tossing and turning, I had to write this to process.  Just a vision of the next episode.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Wilson let himself into House's apartment after his knocking received no response. He hadn't shown up at work, despite his unsolved case, and after several days of stalking him only to be avoided, Wilson knew something was very, very wrong. The overwhelming silence of the apartment only reinforced this feeling.

"House?" Wilson called, tentatively at first, then a little more frantically as he poked into each room, steeling himself for the sight of his friend in any number of horrible states.

House wasn't there. As Wilson walked back to the front door he saw the envelopes propped on the piano. One was addressed to him, the other to Cuddy. Before he had even reached the piano, he had dialed Cuddy and told her she needed to come to House's apartment immediately.

"Fuck, Wilson," was her choked response. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Wilson replied in all honestly. "He's not here. But I doubt it."

"I'm coming," Cuddy said, already in her coat and rushing to her car.

Wilson opened his envelope.

_Hey, Wilson._

_You always did everything you could. It was beyond your efforts. Don't beat yourself up. You've been a wonderful friend._

_House_

Wilson felt his eyes sting. He didn't know if he was more afraid, or sad, or angry. After all this time, House couldn't let it end this way. This couldn't be his story. Wilson's knees were weak and he ended up just sort of crunched over the letter, reading and rereading, when Cuddy rushed in. She scanned the room maniacally and then saw Wilson, who didn't even look up.

"Wilson, what?" she shouted.

"It's not good, Cuddy. I don't know where he is and it's not good," he said. He nodded up at the piano and Cuddy saw her envelope. Wilson shook his head quickly, trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm going to find his credit card bill, try to see if I can get into his account, see where he has been…" he trailed off, going down the hall to search House's room.

Cuddy walked over to Wilson's note, discarded on the floor, and read it from her standing position. Just seeing his handwriting was like a knife in her gut. She walked to get her envelope in a daze.

_My Cuddy,_

_I'm so sorry. I guess I couldn't do any better. For what it is worth, I wanted to. I really thought I might be able to. You were the closest I ever came to happy._

_I always love you._

_House_

Cuddy ran to the bathroom and threw up. She lay there trying to catch her breath, to get control of her thoughts, and she heard Wilson typing on a laptop in House's room. God, the pain. She thought of how many times he might have sat just like this, fighting pain and fighting urges to have it easily taken away.

"There's a charge from last night at the Marriot," Wilson called. "Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

House sat on the edge of the bed after waking from a Vicodin-induced sleep. He felt nauseous and didn't know if it was the drugs or his life. He reached to the bedside table and gulped some water, staring at the pill bottle perched there. He didn't need it anymore. It would all be over soon. He took a deep breath and walked to the sliding doors and stared out at the night for a few minutes, reviewing the many reasons that supported this decision. It fit, he again concluded, and slid the door open. The cold air blowing across his face was further sobering, only strengthening his resolution. He couldn't live sober. It wasn't an option.

Jumping seemed right. A plummet instead of a slow descent. Once the step was taken, there was no backing out – no rehab, no long Wilson speeches, no more options. House climbed onto the railing and looked down the six stories to the ground below. He was in the back of the hotel, so there was no one to really see him as he had his final thoughts.

Then he heard the banging on the door behind him. It was Wilson's bang. He knew it by heart. House rolled his eyes, knowing he shouldn't be shocked by the man's uncanny ability to fly to his injured side. If there were guardian angels, Wilson was his. But House didn't believe in that shit. He ignored Wilson's pleas to open the door, hoping he'd go away to get the manager or something so his last moments could be more silent.

Then he heard the door open and heard her voice behind him. "House," was all she said and his face contorted in agony.

"Dammit, Wilson," he sighed. "She doesn't need this."

"House," she said again, calmly, and he felt her hand on his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"This isn't how it has to go, House," Cuddy said. She didn't plead or cry. Her voice was matter-of-fact because she knew she needed to talk to his brain. His heart was in murky irrational territory right now, but his brain was always reachable. "Your plan is already screwed up. We're here. This isn't how you wanted it to go, so just come down," she instructed.

House sighed heavily. "I can't fix myself, Cuddy," he admitted.

"You haven't tried, House," she said. "Not really. You tried to let me fix you. And I tried that too. We were foolish."

House blinked into the dark below. Cuddy was shaking and she didn't know if it was from the cold or her fear. "Dammit, House, I can't stop you if this is really what you want to do," she scolded, more emotion finally creeping into her voice, "But you can't make me watch this. I know you won't. Come down. Do it tomorrow if you still want to."

House, strangely, laughed a little. She was the only one who could pose an argument that would convince him of anything. His foot shifted and Cuddy's heart leapt into her throat. House stepped backwards, still holding Cuddy's hand, and she fell to the cement ground of the balcony, nearly fainting with relief. House sort-of crumbled next to her and laid his head in her lap, his eyes clenched shut. He couldn't look at her.

"I started it all wrong, House," she told him. "It wasn't your fault."

"It's all my fault, Cuddy," he said stoically.

"You were healing, recovering and I wouldn't try. I was too scared of what you could do to me, too untrusting of your sobriety," she explained. "Then I waited until you were on the edge to meet you there. I just became a Vicodin replacement," she concluded.

"That's not true -"

"It is, House." She insisted. "You were in pain and I was a balm for the pain. I made you not have to feel it, which is what the drugs are about."

They sat there in silence. House placed one hand across his eyes, trying to shut out everything, and the other reached up around her hips, trying to keep her there.

"I need you," he told her.

"I know," she said. "But that will never work," she continued. "You need to be able to stand on your own, to be there for people. You need to feel love and pain and live through it," she explained.

She felt his fingers just lightly on her skin. "Look at me," she told him. He shook his head. It wasn't possible. If he couldn't have her, he couldn't see her. It would kill him. "House, look at me," she insisted, lifting his hand off his eyes and holding it between hers.

His eyes flickered open and the minute he met hers they filled. His brow furrowed in effort to block out the pain. "You can't _need_ me, House," she summarized, staring into him. "You have to be whole and _choose_ me. Not like a drug and not like a high. Like my partner."

House swallowed. "I don't know if that's possible," he admitted.

"Me neither," she said. "But I hope you'll try," she said, her eyes filling now and dropping tears onto his face. They sat there crying in silence for what felt like forever.

"I have to go," she finally whispered.

"No, no, no, don't go," he begged, squeezing every part of her he was touching.

"House, you know this. You know I have to go. We're hopeless otherwise," she explained.

"I don't know what to do."

"I know. And that's scary and painful. And you have to just feel that and come out of it. You can come out of it, House. Or you won't and it's all over. All of it," she concluded. "And what a waste that will be." She took in a breath sharply, bracing herself. Her hands released his and cupped his head tenderly for a moment, then lifted it out of her lap and she shifted and stood. She stopped at the sliding door and saw House roll onto his side, his back to her.

"I love you, Cuddy," he said into the darkness.

"You don't," she replied. "You're not capable yet." She stared at his broken form and fought every urge to go rescue him again. "But _I_ love _you_, House. So you have to try."

House stared through the balcony rails at the night and heard her murmur to Wilson and walk out. _You have to try_, echoed in his head.


End file.
